Sunday Morning Cup of Coffee

I am in my least favorite table at Brewed Awakenings (which is actually now called Anodyne, but I'm old school like that), so we'll see how this goes. Actually, the small table next to the newspaper stand by the door would be my least favorite. But it's usually not a table for people, but a place to hold the newspapers. Today, it's busy, so it is being used for people. I can't find the New York Times, though.

The table in the store window, raised by one step, sit a mother and her son. If this were a clothing store manikins would adorn the storefront window with the latest fashions. This, however, is a coffee shop. The logo for Anodyne, a large "A" with ribbon wrapping through it, is painted on the window. I think of Hester Prynne and Rev. Dimmesdale.

The mom has tattoos. She is wearing a hooded sweatshirt without the hood, it appears to have been ripped off. Her son, probably somewhere in middle grade school, has a rat tail. Only where a rat tail normally grows centered on the upper neck/lower head area, his rat-tail is growing from the right side, just behind his ear. I question both the rat-tail and the location. He is wearing army-fatigue cargo pants with an elastic waist, begging his mother for some money. She replies by giving him a one-arm hug along with half of her attention. He sneaks out from under her. Done with his waffle, he is bored.

The table to my left sit two men, one of them was here when I arrived. He's your coffee shop staple: worn corduroy pants, green puma shoes, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up exposing the long-sleeved once-white long underwear beneath it. He, however, is interested in the latest sporting news, as the man who just joined him starts talking about the game last night:

"How did the Bucks pull off that win last night against Detroit?"
"Running on all cylinders."
"Just like my truck. Sometimes it runs great, and sometimes it spits and skips."
"I got to watch the game."
"Where?"
"Waukesha."
"Some extended stay."

There is no reply. Having just seen the movie "Brick" this weekend, I'm suspicious of this conversation. It makes sense to them.

The kid is now on the cell phone talking to someone, I only get one side of his conversation. I'm doing my best to follow this little maverick trying to convince the person on the other end that the world is round and tilted on an axis:

"There's a country called Africa. Its winter in Africa and here it is spring. Did you know that?"

Apparently the recipient to his conversation didn't.

"What's Philadelphia?"
"Why is it called Philadelphia?"
"Me York? Oh, New York"
"Did you know there's no Old York"

No, I didn't.

My phone rings. 312 area code. I don't answer it but will learn later that it is Throw's new number.

Cell phone usage continues, as the later-arriving man to my left is on the phone now. Talking to his wife?

"I'm glad you went out last night. You deserved it. I'm sorry I became so frustrated, that wasn't fair of me. It's just that your communication was like a yo-yo."

I just got my first look at the kid's shoes. They have velcro straps instead of laces.



Listening to: Matt Pond PA

Cover to Cover: Suburban Safari, A Year on the Lawn by Hannah Holmes

Earth Day is this weekend. Are you looking for a reading companion to help in your celebrations? I suggest Suburban Safari.

Something about Holmes' curiosity of her back yard that is really intriguing to me. In many ways, this book is simply a narrative of what she observes and experiences while rummaging through her yard: digging holes, climbing trees, looking to the skies, and sharing her home with a befriended squirrel. But really it's an environmental history. As simple as this book may seem, this is a very powerful work of literature.

No doubt, this book reeks of something that I would like. Not just the subject matter, but also in the way that Holmes tells her story. As an aspiring writer, I admire the way she really brought me into the yard with her, giving such passion and vigor to what she is writing about.

"They're embattled organism, my trees. Their fruits are stolen, and day after day, their leaves are eaten alive. They're absolutely crawling with herbivores who want a piece of them. I climb a stepladder into my oak and perch among the low branches. At first glance, the leaves are a rich forest-green, laced with bright veins that put me in mind of lighted highways seen from an airplane at night. The same principle creates both patters, I suppose: A main artery divides and divides again, to deliver resources to the humblest town or leaf cell." (p. 154)

Watching: Independent Lens, PBS
Reading: The Moviegoer by Walker Percy

Adventures In Babysitting

Three Men and a Baby. Well, subtract one man and add one baby. Then you’ll have: Two Men and Two Babies. Well, 1.5 and 3 years old actually. But you get the point.

Earlier this week, good friend B and I adventured ourselves in an evening of babysitting. In the days leading up to the big night, both B and I were the talk of the lunch table at our respective places of employment. Everyone wanted to know how two guys in their upper 20s with no prior parenting experience (I’m leaving out a great joke here on B’s expense), would handle two kids for an evening.

I got over to B’s early so we could have a pre-game pep rally, and go grab some dinner. On our way to pick up dinner, B turns to me and says “have you ever changed a diaper before, cause I haven’t. And I’ve never been good with poop and puke.”

“Nope,” I said. “But it can’t be that hard.”

We made it back to B’s and the kids arrived: books, trucks and DVDs in tow. We received our instructions for the night and Mom and Dad were off to Meet Virginia at the Train concert.

This babysitting thing isn’t that hard! We played trucks and watched cartoons (Doobie Doobie Do). Then we took all the pillows off B’s couches and piled them in the middle of the room. This made for a great mosh-pit where the kids could run and jump into. When the older one started jumping off the couch into the pit, B and I moved the coffee table so no one hit their heads. We were so proud of our injury-prevention move!

The older one was inquisitive, asking a lot of questions of B and me. The youngest just kept on smiling and laughing at us (did she know something we didn’t?).

We decided we should go outside and walk (run) around for a while. A little exercise would make them tired and sure to tucker them out for the night. “We’ll have Sports Center on in no time” I promised B. The youngest one got a kick on how her screaming voice echoed over the river. I’m not sure the neighbors were as entertained, however. We made several laps up and down the river-walk. A few trips and falls, but we learned quickly to tell them that they weren’t hurt, just get up and keep walking. No one cried.

We made our way back inside, turned off most of the lights, and put in Bob the Builder DVD. We couldn’t avoid it any longer: diaper time. “You do it” B told me. We all started chanting “no poopies, no poopies, no poopies.” Fortunately, our chants came true! I strapped on a new diaper and put her frog PJs on.

B and I weren’t sure when kids go to bed. It was just before 10pm, and we figured it was time for the little one to go down. Even though we were warned she would cry…she fell asleep right away.

We let the older one hang with the big boys, and he eventually fell asleep curled up next to B on the chair. Sports Center and Baseball Tonight were both over. Admittedly, we were hooked on Bob the Builder (Can we do it…”Yes We CAN!”). Mom and Dad called to be picked up, B went and got them. The little guy joined me on the couch were we both fell asleep to an episode of Seinfeld.


Listening to: Fresh Air with Teri Gross
About to Start Reading: The Moviegoer by Walker Percy

Cover to Cover: Human Stain by Philip Roth

This installment of Cover to Cover is long overdue--I actually finished Human Stain several weeks ago. I've contemplated not writing it. I honestly didn't care much for the book, and I should have taken a clue from JM when I told him I had picked it up and was going to read it. He said "eh...It's OK." Another surfacing clue was when I would mention what I was reading, most everyone would say "Oh, he wrote 'Portnoy's Complaint.'"

There is something, however, that has really stuck with me after reading this book. It is, in fact, exactly what the title suggests: the human stain. On page 244 of my copy of the book (not the one pictured above), it all came to life for me. Sparing you most of the details (but enough so you don't have to go and read it!), there is a story of a "hand-raised crow" (I guess almost domesticated) that somehow escapes to the outside, where it is faced with the hurried attack and harassment from the other (wild) crows. The hand-raised crow "didn't have the right voice," it can't speak crow.

"That's what comes of being hand-raised," said Faunia "That's what comes of hanging around all his life with people like us. The human stain."

I can't get over that feeling of the human stain. Our human stain. My human stain. We leave our mark on everything, there is always a trail of some sort. And the idea that, if we are leaving a stain, it is then assumed that we are foreigners in this environment. I don't think we think of it that way enough. The more power we obtain, the greater the stain.

I'm going to think about my human stain.


Listening To: Travis
Reading: Suburban Safari-A Year on the Lawn by Hannah Holmes